Friday, March 11, 2011

Like primitives we buried the catwith his bowl. Bare-handedwe scraped sand and gravelback into the hole.

They fell with a hissand thud on his side,on his long red fur, the white feathersbetween his toes, and hislong, not to say aquiline, nose.

We stood and brushed each other off.There are sorrows keener than these.

Silent the rest of the day, we worked,ate, stared, and slept. It stormedall night; now it clears, and a robinburbles from a dripping bushlike the neighbor who means wellbut always says the wrong thing.